The London Miracle
by Babatomyfriends
Summary: So here's another look at Mondler in London (like I could stay away from that for long …), this time in the form of a two-parter that focusses on the two days that bracket that ole Night of Seven Times when this London miracle was accomplished. Rated T (for a change) mostly because they didn't actually get to do it again in London no matter how hard they tried …
1. Part 1

Clunk. The third shoe had clean sailed over the TV, missing its intended goal by less than two inches and then dropped to the floor against the wall of the hotel room. And he'd thought he'd gotten it right this time, since the first two shoes had ended up on the TV set right next to the waste basket he'd put on it to serve as goal. Well, he had still one shoe left. Maybe if he tried a little more upward boost and went a bit easier on the kick? But even as the shoe cleared his foot and took off, he could see it wouldn't go high enough, barely clearing the TV before it joined its buddy on the carpet. Chandler sighed deeply.

"Well, this is just as boring in England."

So this was it really. That whole 'going-to-London' thing. The big adventure, the change of scenery, that great fun thing. That which Chandler had sort of hoped would take him out of himself, or at least help him do that. Lose himself for a while, make him stop worrying all the time how he always ended up being too awkward, dorky, squeamish, fussy, sarcastic, uptight and unsure of himself to really relax and enjoy himself. Maybe even get him to be proud of himself, to want to pat himself on the shoulder in a self-congratulatory way. He'd even vaguely thought that all that had long since been due to him, overdue even, now that he was thirty. Okay, thirty and a half. Hell, he'd even brought a whole box of condoms with him!

Except that now, after a whole enervating day spent sightseeing with Joey, feeling ridiculously like a dumb tourist and on top of that annoyed, embarrassed, bored and downright crabby – or all of that plus angry at himself – he was starting to realize that, yeah, it was quite possible to take yourself to somewhere else, but not to take yourself out of yourself, let alone leave yourself behind. No matter where you went, you always were stuck with yourself.

So here he was, alone with himself, still mad at Joey, but even more mad at his own inability to get over himself, still embarrassed, still awkward, still dorky, still goofy, or, in a nutshell, still himself. Chandler Bing.

Best man of Ross for his romantic wedding here, his college roommate and good if not best friend of more than 10 years. Best friend and roommate plus co-best man of Joey who, he suspected, had never once in his life indulged in self-doubt and mortification the way he did almost on a regular basis. Best friend and neighbor of Monica and Rachel who, together with Phoebe, completed their closely knit gang and without whom he simply couldn't imagine his life to be, even if they often taxed his patience to breaking point, but then he liked to imagine that they felt the same about him. Holder of a rather crappy and dead boring job with mostly annoying jerks as co-workers which he only kept because it brought in enough money to not only keep him in food and accommodation but Joey too. Heading for a future where he more likely than not would end up living alone, in a dingy apartment, with maybe a snake or at least a parrot for company, where he had to bang on the ceiling or venture out in his crappy dressing gown to pester his neighbors whenever the loneliness got too much to bear.

Acquaintance or colleague of quite a lot of people. Friend of some. Close friend of a very few. Lover of no one. Currently at least, and if he was honest, that wasn't likely to change in the immediate – or even more distant - future.

Could it get any worse than that?

Sitting forlornly on his bed, Chandler realized just how moot this question had to be. Of course it could get worse. Actually it already had. Here he was, in one of the most exciting cities of the world, with all the time and money on his hands he could wish for and he found nothing better to do with it than sit around and stare at the walls. Oh, and try his hand at that old game of throwing shoes at the wastebasket that never seemed to get old for him, no matter how idiotic and futile it really was.

At least here he was on familiar ground. Yeah, a bed to slouch on and a TV with some mindless show or other that he could watch or at least pretend to watch while really indulging in glum self-pity. And if that failed, he could always work on his speech. Right, that best man speech, the one that was sure to blow them all out of the water, to have them writhe on the floor with laughter, the one that would show those snotty Brits that good ole American jokes were every bit as funny as their famous black humor. Actually he had damn near finished that speech already weeks ago, but a bit more fine-tuning and tweaking never hurt.

Except there was no way in the world he could do it now, given the mood he was in. Actually every last wisp of humor seemed to have forsaken him, leaving him feeling lonely and quite disgusted with himself. And bored. Above all bored.

But just when he wearily considered getting up and retrieving all the shoes to try again, Joey came in, still with that idiotic hat on his head, and looking a little sheepish with it – or maybe only for his benefit. There was no way to tell, but at least he took off the hat, rolling his eyes as he did though.

"Sorry!" Chandler immediately felt bad again.

"No-no-no, y'know what? I really shouldn't have said that you were embarrassing me, I mean that really wasn't cool. And if it makes you feel any better, I've had a really lousy day."

"Me too." Joey admitted. Now there was a surprise.

"Yeah?" But even as said it Chandler realized Joey was having him on. Again.

"Noo! I've had the best day ever! Dude, check this out!" Joey whipped out his camera and set it up for viewing, grinning broadly. "Now, I'm gonna fast forward past the part with you, 'cause it is _boring_."

Story of his life. Fortunately Monica entered just at that moment, saving Chandler a scathing reply so he just contented himself with a well-practiced eyeroll. Joey waved her over and then all three watched Joey on the screen front of Buckingham Palace and showing off his hat to someone beside him.

"_Okay, so say hi to my friend and tell him that you like the hat."_

Now the person next to Joey became visible and Chandler's jaw dropped. What the hell -?

"_Okay, so umm, what's your friend's name?"_

"_Oh, Chandler."_

"_Hi Chahnler!"_

It couldn't be. But there she was, unmistakably, red hair and horsy face and all, just as he'd seen her on thousands of tabloid pictures and appearances on TV.

"That's... That's was..."

"Oh my God!" Now Monica had caught on too.

"That's Fergie baby!" Joey enthused.

Now the Duchess of York looked Joey over good-naturedly and even appraisingly as it seemed to Chandler at least.

"_Joey says you don't really like his hat, but I think it's kinda dashing."_ On screen Joey grinned smugly and Chandler felt like he needed to sit down. The Duchess of York! Liked Joey's hat! And that wasn't even the end of it.

"_So, I hear you're single now ..."_ Good lord, was that a come-on? Did Joey just –

"_Yeah, ummm, I don't like the hat that much."_ When Fergie's smile faltered a little, Chandler felt relieved enough to find his voice again. "How did you? How? How?"

"Well, I was trying to figure out how to get to Buckingham Palace, right? So, I'm in my map and-and...

The rest of the story was lost when Ross entered and immediately pounced on Monica. Almost in no time at all the Geller siblings were at each other's throats, discussing the sense or total lack of it of postponing weddings and what that did to the female half involved in weddings and stuff and the idiocy of the male half who just would never get any of that. Most of that discussion escaped Chandler's grasp though he was able to follow enough of it from the safe refuge of the bathroom he and Joey had retreated to early on to toss them a box of tissues when the need arose.

After that they only needed to hold out for a few minutes more until the storm had blown over and the Gellers had left together to tackle the problem of the ruined wedding location afresh. At last the coast was clear.

"That was pretty intense huh?" Chandler judged that Monica had to be running pretty ragged by now. Hopefully they would work something out.

Joey's thoughts though were following quite different tracks. "Hey, I hope Ross didn't think that we just went in there because we were uncomfortable being out here!"

Unbelieving, Chandler could only glare at him. "I hope he did!"

When Joey just stared, he rolled his eyes, hoping they wouldn't let go altogether before long. "Would you rather he thought we were making out in there?"

Now Joey pouted. "What's the matter with you? You're no fun in England!" With that he threw himself on the bed and grabbed for the telephone. "I'm gonna call Phoebe, see how the chick and the duck are doing."

Chandler suddenly remembered that he'd wanted to work on his speech. Preferably somewhere he didn't have to listen to Joey's arguing with the switchboard operator about which number he should try. "See, that's her number, but she isn't home right now, because she's at my friend's place and that's right across the hall from my place, and what do you mean you need the number? I told you the number!"

.

.

Except it didn't work. His beautiful speech hardly made it off the ground. Chandler glumly suspected that nothing would have worked for him on that day anyway. It seemed that everything had conspired to let that particular day be a total disaster for him from morning to evening, from dawn till dusk without a single break. He had fought with Joey, fallen into a flower stand, gotten lost on his way back to the hotel besides getting soaked in that famous British rain, embarrassed himself countless times, even failed to find a quiet place to work on his speech since Emily's rugby friends had arrived that afternoon as well and immediately seized the hotel bar and tearoom, and now his wonderful speech that he'd set so much hope in had turned out a complete failure. Fizzled out. Fallen flat. Crumpled. DOA. Not a single joke had elicited so much as a tiny twitch in his audience, let alone a smile. Even the Monty Hall joke he'd been so proud of had failed to get a reaction. It was as if they all had gone deaf and dumb all of a sudden. Just the memory of all those blank and indifferent faces made him cover his face with his hands and groan deeply.

"I was laughing." Monica said sympathetically, patting his knee. Chandler hadn't even noticed her coming over and sitting beside him.

"Out loud?" he asked wearily.

"Well I didn't want everyone to think I was stupid."

He hated to admit it, but she did have a point. If there was anyone in this room – hell, in the whole building - who had it worse than him, it had to be Monica. It seemed to him she had been taking flak from everyone in the past months – from her brother for badly advising Emily, her roommate for supporting Emily, from her mother for not being Emily, from her idiot coworkers for being herself, even from the dressmaker who had stabbed her at the fitting of the bridesmaid dress for daring to flinch. It really put things into perspective for him.

"So how are you doing?" he asked commiseratively. Monica smiled wanly and he realized that she was well on the way of getting drunk. Not quite at the stage where she would get all maudlin and bitter, but close. Close enough to get him worried already.

"My mother's driving me crazy, but Ross is getting married. I'm happy." Chandler reflected that it was a good thing her kind of happiness wasn't infectious or he would already be looking for ways to kill himself right now. "I'm not going to let anything spoil that."

Chandler remembered that she had supported Ross' and Emily's relationship practically from the start, pushed, encouraged, helped and believed in them and probably to a much higher degree than the happy couple themselves, even put her friendship with Rachel in jeopardy. If anything went wrong, Monica would be the one to bear the brunt of it, he was pretty sure about that.

And here was that weird drunk guy again who had been staggering around the room the whole evening now without anybody laying claim on him, and gently swaying came to a stop before them, as if someone had sent him to put Monica's last statement to the test.

"I just want to say that Ross is a wonderful young man," he declared with that typical earnest alcoholic conviction and Monica smiled happily. She'd always been a sucker for compliments, even by proxy.

"Well, thanks. We like him!"

The hammered guy vaguely worked on that and then made an effort to look at her more closely. "My god! You must have been a teenager when you had him!"

Chandler could practically feel her freeze in shock, as if that idiotic remark had turned her to stone on the spot, staring straight ahead with her fingers clenched so hard around the glass in her hand it was a wonder it didn't break. While the plastered guy continued to wind his laborious way to the bar, Chandler tried to come up with something to console her besides helplessly patting her on the shoulder, and failed completely, as if that fount of jokes inside him had suddenly run dry when he needed it most.

"Look …" he started lamely and stopped again when she turned her head and he saw the hopeless sorrow in her eyes. Then Monica got up.

"I need a drink" she stated matter-of-factly. "Oh, don't get up, I can still get there on my own. Just hand me my walking stick and my granny glasses, would you?"

"Monica, please-" But she was already heading determinedly for the bar and by the time he had caught up with her, she was just having her drink freshened.

"The guy was hammered, okay? There's no way you look like Ross's mother!"

"Then why would he say it?" she spat.

Chandler knew it was hopeless, but persevered nonetheless. "Because he's crazy. Okay? He came up to me earlier and thanked me for my very moving performance in _Titanic_!"

Now she looked close to tears. "Oh, my mother's right. I'm never going to get married."

Oh sweet lord, please not that old song and dance again. That heartbreaking wail of 'I'm never going to get married, I'll never have kids, I'll die an old maid' … how many times had he been forced to listen to that never-ending lament already in the past? And why did it always have to be him? Him of all people who would never have a chance in hell to really help her to get over her endless tale of woe? But who else was there?

"Ahh, you know what? That is... Who wouldn't want you?"

Who indeed. He certainly would. He'd long since realized that on some deep and obscure level he had always wanted her and probably always would. So much indeed that he could never understand why any male with a pulse could not be attracted to her. Granted, she was pretty intense, and passionate, and bordering on crazy often enough, compulsive, scathing, stubborn – okay, but also so unbelievable hot with it that by any right it should even out all her faults. If you could call them faults. It seemed to him they were more like personality traits that made her what she was. Maybe she wouldn't even be as hot and stunning if she didn't have them. Or at least too hot to handle.

And for a split second he actually feared she would challenge that question and turn it around, ask him if he wanted her. Would he be able to admit it and without dying from embarrassment on the spot too? And if he did, would it help her? Or just embarrass her too, make things awkward between them and ultimately add to her burden?

But when she turned away from him resignedly, he immediately felt guilt mixed into his relief. "Oohh, please! I'm a single mom, with a thirty year old son!"

"Not single," he found himself correcting her. "That guy obviously took us for Ross' parents. In fact, he said you looked too young. Not me. So obviously I'm the one who looks old enough –"

But it was no use, she wasn't even listening anymore to his babbling, but knocked back her drink instead with a grimace as if it was cough medicine, and then let the bartender replenish it again. Chandler racked his befuddled brain for something to shake her out of her black mood and couldn't come up with anything. Except for the obvious that he had to get her away before she got to that stage where she would become defiant and reckless – and loud, too - and after that, completely crazy. If nobody stopped her, she was bound to do something she would regret in the morning, if not spoil everything for her for good. And it looked like it was on him again. Her parents were still hotly contesting the wedding bill with Emily's parents while Ross and Emily tried to act as puffers and looking quite fed up already, and he couldn't see Joey anywhere. He probably had left for greener pastures already with that bridesmaid, not that he could blame him. At least she would help him get over that sudden bout of homesickness. Chandler sighed and pulled himself together.

"Listen" he said earnestly. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this place. All those drunks saying these crazy things – I really think we should leave."

"Oh, but I can't leave now. The reception's not over yet. What if Ross needs us?"

"He has Emily. And a thirty-year-old should know how to take care of himself." Chandler managed to take the glass from her without her noticing. "If you ask me, the reception is pretty much finished. But if you want to stay and watch your father and Mr. Waltham bashing their heads in over that bill -"

Monica grimaced. "You really think we're done here?"

"Yes!" he said firmly. "And we've both had a long day. Come on."

.

.

Later – not so much later actually, certainly not as much as he'd thought it would take – as he trotted back to his hotel room, Chandler kept debating with himself if it wouldn't have been better if he'd kept Monica company instead of leaving her at the door her hotel room and saying goodnight, along with a few meaningless phrases about how she would surely feel better in the morning and just needed a good night's rest. But something had held him back. Maybe he was feeling a little tired himself, though it wasn't all that late yet, but he told himself that he was definitely too tired to face some more hours of Monica's obsessive ranting about how she couldn't get a boyfriend and wonder at the inexplicability of it all himself. Why couldn't she get a boyfriend? By any right there should be tons of eligible guys standing in line along three blocks for the chance to take a shot at it. Hell, he himself still felt tempted to give it a try, even though he had already asked her once and been shot down. But even before that he'd been in two minds about it. On the one hand he still wanted to give it a try, to see if it could work after all. Yes, she was quirky, and obsessive, and exacting – being her boyfriend would probably prove to be quite exhausting over time if nothing else – but more often than not he felt that this was a challenge he could quite possibly be able to take. That if put to the test he would be able to handle her. And that it would so worth the trouble. Or at the very least it would never be boring.

But on the other hand he felt that he had no right to push himself on her, even if he thought he'd be up to the challenge and though she still was single and kept bewailing the fact. After all, he had enough problems of his own and it would be grossly unfair to burden her with them when she already had such a heavy load to bear. How could he really let anyone share his problems, especially someone who had so many problems of her own already? Even if he could ever be good enough for her – which he could never be, he was quite sure of that - she really didn't need that in her life.

And right now wasn't the right time anyway. She was depressed and maudlin, and therefore much too vulnerable. If he made a move now she might just give in just to gain some comfort from it, and afterwards feel bad about it. This so wasn't worth it.

He didn't feel good about leaving her alone though. Maybe if he checked on her later? But no, she could be asleep by then. Maybe he should turn back now and just look in, see if she was alright? But what reason could he give that would convince her? Maybe if he told her that he couldn't go to his room, because Joey was there with his bridesmaid?

He just couldn't decide.

Did she need him?

Did he need her?

Would they both be better off with or without each other?

Was she really too vulnerable right now?

What if he went back and just kept her company, as a friend, trying to cheer her up? But wouldn't she have said something along those lines? Maybe she just wanted to be left alone, sleep off the whisky and her troubles?

He had arrived at his room and was hesitating in front of it with the key in his hand and unable to come to a decision, when the door opened so suddenly he almost fell into it. And here was Joey who had been about to leave, hand in hand with his latest conquest and carrying a bucket of strawberries before him like a trophy.

"Whoa, buddy! Had a bit too much, huh? Hey, we're going to hit the bar again, wanna come? We could find a bridesmaid for you too, eh!"

Chandler declined with a forced smile which he knew looked fake, and felt relieved when Joey dismissed him right away and headed for the elevator with a cheerful wave. And all of a sudden Chandler did feel tired. Yes, a good night's rest, that was the ticket. Put on his PJs – the blue ones he'd never worn before but packed just to spite Joey who'd claimed they looked ridiculous, so what better time to put them on but now that he got the room to himself all night?

All night. Why there were so many things he could do that night. Take a shower, watch TV, or a movie, read a little. Why, he could even work out a little without fear of anyone watching and make fun of him! Although when he put that last idea into practice, he realized right away that a workout just didn't work out for him. Much too strenuous. So he aborted the half-assed attempt at a push-up again and got into bed. And right away got out again, when somebody knocked on the door.

And there she was. Monica, much as he'd left her earlier – still with that aura of weariness, frustration, belligerence, wounded pride and vulnerability all wrapped in one. Maybe a little more wasted than before, judging by the whisky glass in her hand. But still so stunningly hot, especially since she hadn't changed yet and was still in that low cut red dress that looked so good on her.

"Hey!" he greeted her, trying to sound as friendly and pleasantly surprised as possible and hoping she wouldn't feel that she had cut in on his beauty sleep or something. Actually her turning up so unexpectedly was saving him a lot of worry.

"Hey," she replied as she looked him over quizzically. "Cute PJs! You're really living it up here in London, huh?"

Chandler belatedly realized he'd totally forgotten about his pajamas and that she hadn't seen them before.

"Well I was… I wasn't exactly expecting company after …" he looked pointedly at his watch and then did a double take. Could it really be, um - "9:15 ..." Feeling a bit dismayed he held the door open for Monica to wander in and look around vaguely. "Is Joey here?"

Years later that casual question would come back to haunt him, but now he didn't attach any importance to it and simply shrugged it off. "Well, last time I saw him he was heading out the door with the bridesmaid and a bucket of strawberries." Something in her expression changed at that, but for all he knew it was just amusement at Joey's ways. But more important he sensed that she seemed a bit at a loss, a little uncomfortable even – probably because she didn't want to explain why she had come, so he readily took it on himself to keep the conversation going.

"So uh, you're not still upset about what that guy told you, are ya?"

She tried to glare, but only succeeded to look tired and maudlin, though maybe a little less than before, down at the reception. "Wouldn't you be?"

Chandler realized he had to cheer her up at all costs, just so she wouldn't end up crying all over his nice blue pajamas. But how? "Well, look, it's been a really emotional time, you know, and you've had a lot to drink. And you've just got to let that **go** okay?" Suddenly inspiration struck. "I mean you were the most beautiful woman in the room tonight!"

"Really?" She seemed genuinely incredulous, as amazing that seemed. How could she not know how attractive she was, how incredibly hot? Well, if it made her this happy, he was perfectly willing to all but bury her under compliments. Especially since it was no less than true.

"Are you kidding? You're the most beautiful woman in most roo–"

Right then it happened, the miracle, that unbelievable, unimaginable thing, as if out of the blue, and so suddenly he never got a chance to finish his sentence. Monica threw herself at him and pressed her mouth on his, so sudden too that he staggered back with surprise before catching himself enough to steady himself, and her too. Her. Monica. Who had thrown herself at him and was kissing him – KISSING him! - and before he realized what he was doing, or what she was doing for that matter – he put his arms around her and kissed her back. The kiss lasted long enough for him to register that her mouth tasted like whisky and maybe a little mouthwash, and that she smelled incredibly good, and the skin of her arms and shoulders under his hands was so hot and smooth, and that she was kissing him with a wild abandon that was so typical of her and as frightening as it was exciting. When they broke apart and faced each other, Chandler felt like caught in a dream. How could this be real? Monica had kissed him! Monica had – she actually had – how could that be?

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What's going on?" He just couldn't read her expression. Could it really be that she looked eager, urgent even, rather than shocked at herself? "You and I just made out! You and I are making out?!"

"Well, not anymore." That definitely sounded disappointed. Slightly annoyed even at the interruption. Did she actually want more? Chandler's head was whirling.

"But we don't do that." He tried lamely, mostly to gain some time. He still couldn't believe what was happening.

"I know, I just thought it would be fun." That sounded light, almost dismissive, but the expression in her eyes told him she was serious. And as he stared at her, he finally realized that she was actually trying to show him how vulnerable she felt and how great her need was. Dear sweet lord, Monica was pleading with him. Pleading! What was he waiting for? Except –

"How drunk are you?" he asked abruptly, almost hating himself for it, but knowing he had to give her this chance to reconsider and bow out before committing herself to something she might yet regret. But she held her ground. "Drunk enough to know that I want to do this. Not so drunk that you should feel guilty about taking advantage."

No way she could have reeled that off so effortlessly if she had been too far gone to know what she was doing, so try as he might, he could find no further ground for refusal. Quite on the contrary.

"That's the perfect amount!"

The way her face lit up at this and she held out her arms to him somehow sealed matter for good. And before he knew it they were already sitting on the bed and making out again, grabbing at each other and kissing hungrily, as if there was no tomorrow. It felt surreal and crazy and utterly amazing, and yet –

"You know what's weird?" she exclaimed suddenly while he stared at her dazedly.

"What?"

"This doesn't feel weird!"

"I know ..." he said wondrously. Already it felt completely natural that they should cling to each other and make out, with ever increasing desire. It just – fitted. As if both suddenly had found something in the other that neither had known they'd missed out on before.

She stared at him searchingly. "You're a really good kisser!"

Chandler automatically reacted to the compliment as he always did, with a self-depreciatory joke. "Well, I have kissed over four women." When that got him a reproachful look, he hurriedly tried to distract her. "Do you wanna get under the covers?"

"Uh-huh!" Her open enthusiasm made his head swim. They raced each other to the head of the bed and slipped under the covers, and he realized right away that they needed to keep the whole thing very light, almost like a game, if they wanted to avoid any awkwardness to spoil everything before it could even happen. Like those birds did it in a documentary he suddenly remembered (and marveled at the same time how he could still think of things like that at times like these) who went through all these funny looking mating dances and rituals only to get used again to each other and ensure their partnership would work out and hold through the time they would raise their young together. If he got too serious now, the bubble would burst and Monica would never forgive him.

But when had he ever managed to be serious for long?

There was one thing to be said for those silly pajamas, they were admirably suited to make a big show of getting out of them. He tore at the sleeves, kicked at the pant legs and shoved them over his head, and finally flung them away so they landed in a heap somewhere on the floor between his and Joey's bed. When he turned to Monica he was gratified to see that she was staring at him open-mouthed. And intensely glad he'd showered and brushed his teeth.

"Wow! You are really fast!"

"It bodes well for me that speed impresses you," he replied dryly. Deep inside a small part of him was punching the air with a victory yell.

Now Monica's eyes gleamed. "We could see each other naked...!"

"Yep!"

"Do you wanna do it at the same time?"

Exactly what he had been thinking, and how amazing was it that they were so in tune? "Count of three?"

"One!"

"Two!" Overlapping now.

"Three!"

And up went the covers. Although the sight of her body, her nakedness – Monica naked! – was thrilling beyond compare, the way she stared at him, checking him out and failing to get turned off by what she saw, but on the contrary quite obviously approving and, moreover, desirous, even hungry, proved even more arousing. Her look didn't lie, she really wanted him. She was naked and lying in bed with him and wanted to do it with him … It was almost too much.

When they let the covers go and came up again, Monica had a big silly grin plastered on her face and Chandler for once had to fumble for an ironical comment that would dispel the last remnant of awkwardness.

"Well I think it's safe to say that our friendship is effectively ruined."

Monica dismissed this right away. "Eh, we weren't that close anyway!" And she reached out for him to pull him close and press herself against him, kissing him and when he kissed her back she started to slide a leg across his waist, making him moan, or maybe she was moaning or they both were, and then he heard someone at the door struggling with the unfamiliar lock - - Oh dear god, why now?!

"Joey! Joey!" he gasped, drawing away from her. "Joey! J-J-Joey-Joey-J-Joey!" And Monica quickly scooted under the cover until nothing of her remained visible, or so he hoped. If Joey saw her, saw them naked together, he would surely burst into flames.

After he'd finally got the door open, Joey came in. Chandler pulled himself together and tried to act cool with one arm casually lying on the covers a bit over Monica's head. She was keeping admirably still, he couldn't even feel her breathing. Maybe they still had a chance? To have everything spoiled now that they'd come so far would be unbearable.

"Hey!

"Hey Joe! I was just watching a movie-e-e…" Except of course the TV was quite obviously off and when Joey's puzzled expression turned into a half-disgusted, half-amused one, Chandler winced.

"Oh, dude I'm so sorry!"

"No! No! No!"

Joey waved his protests aside. "Hey, no! No, it's cool! It's cool! I'll only be a second, I'm still with my bridesmaid. I just — where are those condoms you brought?"

Chandler resignedly pointed to the dresser next to the TV. "They're in my bag over there." When Joey headed for the dresser while giving his bed a wide berth, the mention of the condoms suddenly triggered something in Chandler's brain. The condoms! Just when he finally had a use for them, they were as good as gone. Unless -

"Uh, could you leave me one?" he asked as casually as possible. Please let this work, please …

Joey paused, raising his brows again and Chandler positively cringed. "For just you?"

Chandler confined himself to a lame "Yeah," and a pathetic shrug. Joey shrugged and tore off one of the little squares, then to Chandler's horror came over and sat on the other bed.

"Hey listen, why don't you come downstairs with me? There's some really nice girls down there."

"No I – I'm fine…" Chandler managed. Everything inside him wanted to scream at Joey to finally beat it, get out of here before Monica suffocated under the covers, or worse, would be turned off enough to run out on him and never speak to him or even look at him again all her life.

Finally Joey relented and tossed him the condom. "All right, here you go buddy." Then he got up to leave, throwing him a final "Go nuts!" over the shoulder before he shut the door behind him.

Leaving them alone. Alone, lying in bed together naked, and maybe all was lost now, but if not –

"Is he gone?" Monica asked muffled from under the covers and Chandler hurriedly pushed them away from her head. As she emerged, blinking and with tousled hair, he held out the condom like a peace offering, quite sure now that she would dash out of the room right away.

But instead she smiled at him and Chandler's heart almost gave out.

"Wow! That was good thinking!" She took the condom from his hand and looked at it, then put it back on the nighttable before reaching out for him again.

"But we don't need it" she told him while they embraced again. "I put in my – well, it's safe. Yes, I'm sure ... mmmh … um – mmmh …"

As they pressed together, her scent enveloping him, her hands grabbing at him, urging him closer yet, against her, over her, her moans mingling with his, and he felt her body writhing under him, cradling and receiving him, Chandler realized that what was happening was nothing less than a miracle. A miracle he hadn't expected, hadn't even thought of looking for, especially not on this day when everything had let him down so badly, but a miracle nonetheless.


	2. Part 2

"Tell him who you originally wanted to hook up with that night."

Twelve words, a loaded sentence that had about the same effect as a gunshot into the ceiling, that let the cat out of the bag, a cat that Monica had completely forgotten had been in the bag in the first place. Only now that Phoebe had brought it up, Monica did remember that originally she had wanted to hook up with Joey. But that had been due to the booze muddling her brain and her prevailing mood that night – her feeling of being unwanted, ugly, doomed and old. And it had only lasted for about ten minutes tops, until she'd faced Chandler in his funny rodeo pajamas and he'd set her right. And anyway, they had it all wrong, Chandler most of all, but also Phoebe and Joey, and she urgently needed to tell them and set the record straight. Especially Chandler. She could have told Phoebe and Joey, but before she got a chance, Rachel had suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream in the hallway and they had all run out to check on her. When it turned out that it had just been a prank Ross and Ben had played on her, Joey and Phoebe had left to look for Chandler. By then Monica felt that it would have been futile and not worth the effort to explain to Phoebe and Joey how they got it wrong. Joey would probably not get it, and if he did, would forget it immediately, and Phoebe would never believe her anyway, even if she understood for once, which seemed unlikely right now anyway given the mood she was in after finding out about the possible side effects of the headache pill. At this Monica rolled her eyes and groaned in frustration. Why? Why had she shown the box to Phoebe? Why had she given her the pill in the first place? And why, oh why on earth hadn't she been able to shut up when Phoebe aimed her shot of those twelve loaded words at her? She could simply have refused to answer, pretended not to remember what she was talking about, and if Chandler would have insisted, she could have told him everything in private as soon as they were alone. She wasn't sure if that would have kept him from freaking out like he did, but at least it would have stayed between them and she would have been able to put him right. Eventually.

But of course she was going to put him right, at least as soon as he returned. If he returned. Monica was pretty sure that he would, after he'd cleared his head with a walk or maybe after Joey had a chance to talk to him, but you never really knew with Chandler. If the worst came to the worst she would have to go and look for him, but for the time being she needed to stay put. And think about the best way to explain it all to him and put him right, make him understand that he actually had never been her second choice. That there was no way he could have been a runner-up ever.

Monica sat at the kitchen table where she could keep the door in her sight, supporting her head with her hands while she thought back to the night in London three years ago. Rather, two and a half, but it felt longer than that. They'd come such a long, long way since then. They were living together now and just half a year ago they had gotten engaged. In another half year they were going to get married. Married! She, Monica, who used to think she would never get married, had gotten engaged, and to her best friend too. Ever since that night in London they had walked down that road together, covering an unbelievable distance by taking it one step at a time, and handling every crisis and obstacle together. Looking back she realized how flat out impossible it had seemed that it would turn out this way, how absurd even. How she had found the love of her life not by searching, or even looking in the last place she'd imagined him to be, but by not looking for him in the first place, but for something entirely different. She had looked for distraction, for a chance to do something so coarse and crude it would numb her disgust of herself and in the aftermath help her get over her sense of failure, at least for a while. Something downright vulgar, and so out of character for her, it would serve as an act of rebellion too. Look here, I'm Monica, I'm drunk and I want to have sex, meaningless throwaway sex, just a hookup, a one night stand, some wham bam thank you ma'am. Something dirty that she could wash off again with a shower and forget about afterwards.

And if it hadn't been for her reluctance to risk a chance meeting with a stranger in the bar downstairs (the fear of running into her parents there had been a factor too) and if she hadn't been too drunk to remember about Joey's bridesmaid, or if Chandler hadn't opted for an early night, all of it would never have happened. It was pretty ironic, if she hadn't looked for Joey, she would never have found Chandler. Therefore the very thing that had upset him so much was the very reason they had come together. And once they had, she had completely forgotten about it. Or rather, it had been clean swept out of her mind with everything that followed after.

Oh dear lord, that unbelievable night. And that crazy whirlwind day after it. When she had woken up to Ross's joyful yelling and found herself in Chandler's bed, buck-naked and confused, with her best friend lying next to her, as embarrassed and tongue-tied as she – besides being buck-naked too of course – she had been too shocked at first to be able to deal with it properly. So she had all but fled from the room as soon as she could and even refused to think about it, denying to herself that it had happened or at least meant anything. It had been a drunken mistake, a misstep, a meaningless physical encounter, a stupid hook-up. She and Chandler? Unthinkable. Absurd. Dead embarrassing too. Best not to think about it. Surely if any of her friends found out about it, she'd become a laughing stock. They both would. He was her friend for crying out loud, her brother's college roommate, her neighbor for more than seven years, she knew him better than any of her male friends and acquaintances. She'd often thought of him like a brother, if a very different brother than the one she actually had. Chandler? Sometimes I don't even like Chandler! That's what she had told Joey who'd only wanted to know Chandler's whereabouts and of course she had only realized afterwards that by her protesting way too much she could have given the game away there and then already, if it hadn't been for Joey's habitual cluelessness. That had been a close call, the first of many more to come, and at the very least it had helped her clear her head and get things into perspective, if not under control.

Still, there had been that moment, that acutely embarrassing, awkward moment when the wedding had started and she had suddenly realized that it was Chandler she would have to walk down the aisle with. Maybe she could have arranged to change that, with some lame excuse or other, but it was too late and she didn't want to risk hurting his feelings either. So she steeled herself to go through with it, hoping that nothing about them would give them away and expose their shameful secret for everyone to see. And that Chandler would feel the same way about it. That morning it had seemed like it, but what if that had changed during the day?

But when they took their positions at the entrance of the half demolished church and waited side by side for their cue to start walking down the aisle, something had changed. He had offered his arm and taking it, she had looked at him, really looked at him for the first time after she had run from his room, and saw all of her conflicting emotions mirrored in his eyes. Nervousness, intense embarrassment, crippling tongue-tied shyness, confusion, fear of being found out and made fun of and on top of it all, desire. Reined in and kept firmly in check, but unmistakably there. If he'd had his tongue hanging out and panting, undressing her with his eyes, it could not have been clearer. And as soon as she saw it she realized she had been feeling it all along too. All the time, buried and suppressed under all the other feelings it had been there, burning steadily and growing at an increasing rate. Especially now that she was so close to him, feeling his arm pressing hers against his chest, his body warmth under his dress coat, walking in step with him and trying her utmost to control her facial expression and keep smiling, holding that fake, dazzling smile on her face at all costs, radiating happiness and cheerfulness, as if nothing had happened and she hadn't a care in the world. And all the while she felt his heart thudding against his ribs and his breathing getting short and then speeding up again while he beamed and grinned cheerfully at the people in the rows on both sides, looking at them as they walked down the aisles under the soft glow of the candles and light chains. It couldn't have lasted more than half a minute, but it seemed like an eternity to her. A magical, entrancing and overwhelming eternity. Especially when he started to speak, out of the corner of his mouth, low and urgent and fumbling for words, and yet so endearing.

"What we did last night was..."

"Stupid," she cut him off. Oh god, what if someone overheard them? But oh, the thrill of it all. When had she last felt so alive?

And so horny?

"Totally crazy stupid," he agreed readily enough and she managed a brittle laugh.

"What were we thinking?"

"I'm coming over tonight though, right?"

There it was, the confirmation of what she hadn't doubted yet so needed to hear. It sent a thrill through her that almost made her swoon with delight and sweet terror and left her so short of breath she couldn't reply until she had steadied herself by swallowing and taking a couple of deep breaths. Then - "Oh yeah. Definitely."

After that they had to separate and take their places next to the groom and the other bridesmaids and best men as the wedding took its course. And still the thrill held, that tingling excitement that made it hard for her to concentrate on the wedding and keep her composure. She hardly even dared to look at Chandler and kept telling herself that she only needed to be patient, just a little while more and then they would have all the time they wanted, all they needed for another night like the last one, now that they both wanted it.

Then her idiot brother said the wrong name, getting Emily close to a nervous breakdown and seething with rage at the same time, chaos and mayhem ensuing as she socked him a good one in the stomach and took off to shut herself in the bathroom at the reception, the guests milling about in embarrassed confusion and still she felt removed from it all somehow, as if she wasn't really a part of this but just looked on from a distance while all that really mattered was how and when she would get together with Chandler again. Not even her mother reproaching her for not stopping Rachel could really affect her for once.

Then they met at the buffet and managed to exchange a few words. While he claimed to be worried about what their continued fling would do to their friendship she kept feeling the tug of their desire and readily, even joyously agreed when he suggested to confine their affair to London and terminate it as soon as they were back home. It seemed like such an ideal solution, especially since it allowed them to go for it to their hearts' content while they were still in London, and so they did.

Or at least they tried. Again and again, rushing around desperately in search of a place where they could have another go at it before their time ran out. Their wonderful crazy London time. Emily vanished into thin air, Ross went ballistic, Rachel kept obsessing over the meaning of Ross having said her name at the altar, Joey got all hung up over that 'My Giant' movie and all she could think of was how wonderful and exciting it was to be with Chandler in their breathless pursuit of a common goal, how well they worked together and how much in tune they always seemed to be. The fact that not one of their friends or even her parents suspected a thing only added to the fun, even if it worked against them just as much as worked to their advantage. If she hadn't gotten together with Chandler and now been so distracted by it, she'd surely gone crazy with worry and obsession about Rachel's sudden appearance, Emily's flight and Ross's near breakdown, but now with Chandler at her side all the time reminding her of all the wonderful things they'd done the night before and could do again if circumstances would just allow them a quiet hour to themselves, everything else just ceased to matter. Although it had been exceedingly frustrating every time their plans were thwarted. First the wine cellar they'd agreed to meet in proved unavailable, then her mother had collared her for a lengthy discussion, and when they had finally met up again, they couldn't find a taxi. At last they made it back to the hotel, in a tearing hurry to get to her room, with Chandler barely able to squeeze in a joke before they got there, only to come face to face with Rachel who had beaten them to the punch and already laid claim to her bed, so they were forced to look elsewhere. Again. Then Chandler remembered his own room and for a little while seemed they had succeeded at last. And there had been that precious moment when he had firmly barred the door and then turned to look at her in sheer wonder and admiration.

"Wow, you look …"

She had really hated to cut him short, especially since he looked absolutely gorgeous too, still in his dark gray best man dress coat and light grey vest and cravat that looked so great on him, but they really didn't have time for anything but what they'd set out to do.

"No time for that!" and she started to urgently tear at his coat and push it over his shoulders, and for a moment it seemed as if it would work out for them, that the next minute would find them rolling and writhing on the bed, kissing desperately as they tore out of their clothes – only to get interrupted again, this time by Joey who proved even harder to get rid of than Rachel. When at last they managed to get out of the room and Chandler hit on trying the honeymoon suite, it was getting late, their precious remaining London time dwindling to mere hours. The honeymoon suite had seemed promising though, after Chandler had managed to dispel her last qualms. Monica laughed out loud at the memory, startling herself in the quiet kitchen and then laughing even harder. About the way he had stood there, his arms held wide while he explained so earnestly why it was so important that they should have sex in this particular room.

"Oh, but, but Monica! Look, this is the honeymoon suite. The **room** expects sex. The **room** would be disappointed if it didn't get sex. All of the other honeymoon suites would think it was a loser!" That had been sooo Chandler.

Of course that had completely convinced her, and of course, just as they got under the covers they had been interrupted once more, for the final time, and by Ross of all people. Monica still wasn't sure how they had managed to hold out and endure it all, and still without anybody noticing anything amiss, not Ross, not the others when they joined them, not when they caught the plane back home, not during the flight when a last desperate effort was thwarted by Joey and not when they'd gotten back home to their apartments and Phoebe. Who didn't notice anything either which still counted as a miracle in Monica's eyes. Not as enormous and wonderful a miracle as the one that happened when they were left alone with each other, and somehow succeeded to overcome their scruples and qualms, but still a miracle, one of the many little miracles that added up to that one grand surpassing one -

Still lost in thoughts and memories the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway didn't really register with Monica until Chandler opened the door and came to a stop when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. For a long moment Monica felt almost paralyzed, as if frozen to the spot, before she could tear herself out of it and then she practically flew at him, running to him and throwing herself at him, as sudden and impulsively as she had that night in London. And Chandler caught her almost reflexively, long experience enabling him to stand fast and steady her at the same time. Then they stood in the doorway, pressing against each other in a near death grip and she kept repeating 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry' until he shut her up with his kiss.

"I'm sorry too" he mumbled into her neck after they had at last broken the kiss. "I was so stupid."

"No, you weren't. I was stupid."

That made him draw away from her and frown with exaggerated puzzlement.

"What? How can you be stupid, when I'm the one who totally overreacted and freaked out over nothing?"

Monica clenched her hands on the lapels of his jacket, swallowing hard.

"Because you got it all wrong and it's all my fault!"

"No, it's not" he said gently. "Joey talked to me and made me see that – that it doesn't matter that you wanted him first –"

It almost exploded out of her. "But I didn't want him!"

"What? But you said –"

"I didn't want Joey!"

Now Chandler looked alarmed and even turned around to check the hallway. "Shh! He could hear you!"

Monica dearly wanted to make it clear that she couldn't care less if Joey or anyone else for that matter overheard it, but nevertheless bit her lip and forced herself to calm down while Chandler shut the door and then steered her towards the living-room. But as soon as they had settled on the couch, she turned to him, taking hold of the lapels of his jacket again for better emphasis.

"Chandler, hear me out, okay? I really really really … need to explain this. Are you listening? No, no joking now! Just nod, okay?"

He raised his eyebrows at that and for a long moment it looked like he was choking on something – probably the joke she'd cut off at the root – then he slowly nodded. Monica took a deep breath and suddenly found herself at a loss. How to begin?

"Well, I … you see, that night in London … I didn't want Joey. I mean, I didn't want him specifically, I just wanted sex. Just, you know, the physical act, a one night stand I could forget about after –"

"And Joey qualified for all that?"

Monica sighed. "Maybe. I wasn't exactly thinking straight. Yeah, I know, he would probably have chickened out at the last minute. I know! But still, I couldn't think of anyone else." When Chandler opened his mouth she quickly put a finger across his lips. "I'm not done yet!"

As Chandler choked back whatever he'd been going to say, she tried to collect her thoughts.

"Anyway, what I'm trying to explain is – Joey was just the simplest, most obvious candidate. But really anyone would have served, even a complete stranger, if I hadn't been too scared to try and find one. Anybody." She met his gaze, reading the question almost bursting out of him and sighed again. "Anybody but you."

"What?" Chandler squeaked and then hurriedly forced his voice to sound normal, or at least reasonably so. "Why? I mean – what exactly disqualified me for … meaningless forgettable purely physical mind-numbing sex?"

"Nothing! If I'd known then how great you are –"

"What? Would you have chosen me first?"

"No! I mean, yes, I would have, but – it wasn't like that at all." Monica bit her lip. "Chandler, I never even considered you. Not because you weren't eligible or because I wasn't attracted to you –"

"Or because I was the guy who peed on you?"

"Chaaaannnddlleerrrr! Please!"

"Alright, okay! Sorry I brought it up. But if it wasn't my physical prowess or rather lack thereof, what was it?"

Monica swallowed. "I thought – I thought you didn't want me."

When his jaw became unhinged and he just gaped at her, she winced. "I know! I'm sorry! I was wrong! But – I was feeling so bad that night. I was such a mess. When that guy thought I was Ross' mother –"

"Oh, not that again. That guy was drunk!"

I know! But - I was a mess. I was feeling worthless and ugly. I hadn't had a boyfriend for over a year. My last boyfriend had chosen those fighting championships over me. My brother was getting married for the second time while I hadn't even been come close to a meaningful relationship once. My mother was giving me hell. My coworkers hated me. I was depressed and morose and getting drunk didn't help. It only made matters worse. I felt like a total loser that nobody would ever want. Who was impossible to live with and who would scare everybody away with all those obsessions and –"

"But why didn't you let me -"

"Let me finish, okay? I thought the only one who would at least be interested in doing it with me would be Joey, and I didn't even have much hope of getting him to do it. But I thought I had at least to try or lose my last shred of self-respect. Which was pretty nonexistent at that point anyway."

"But I was there, I kept telling you that you were wrong!"

"I know! But I couldn't believe it. I thought you were just humoring me. And then you took me to my room."

"I took you - oh. Oh no." Chandler suddenly looked dismayed.

"Yeah. Like you said earlier, you were the perfect gentleman. You took me to my room and said goodnight."

Chandler groaned. "Oh god. You must have thought I hated your guts."

Monica jabbed him in the ribs. "Stop it! I didn't think that, only that you had enough of me already. You'd been so patient before, listening to my ranting, consoling me … I thought you were tired. You'd said so too! You said it had been a long day and we should both get some rest!"

Chandler sighed. "Clearly there are some things about guys you have yet to learn."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you see, when a guy says it's been a long day and you should get some rest, what he really means is – wait, why am I telling you this now?"

Monica giggled in spite of herself. "You mean, you would have – if I'd offered?" Abruptly she became serious again. "Okay, but I'm pretty sure it would have needed some more persuasion."

"Well …"

"And I didn't want to have to beg. Not if there was – another way."

"You mean Joey."

"I guess. I mean he probably would have needed some persuasion too, and maybe he would have chickened out at the last moment, but I thought I had a chance with him. More of a chance at least." She clenched her fist. "Don't you see? I couldn't do that to you! I just couldn't push myself on you. I knew you would feel bad about it, that you would feel obligated to take care of me, and then think you'd never get rid of me again, that I would cling to you. Or that it would make us both so ashamed that it would ruin our friendship." Monica closed her eyes. "But actually – I didn't really think about it all that much. I was too drunk to really think about it."

There was a short pause. When she opened her eyes again, he was looking pensive, and then blinked, jerking his head a little.

"Wow. Now I wish you'd said that before. It would have saved me half an hour of agonizing over Joey stealing my girlfriend again, and without even being there."

"He didn't - alright. Yeah, I'm sorry. But you ran out before I could even start to explain, and anyway, I didn't really want to with Phoebe and Joey there. You think they would have believed me?"

Chandler considered. "Phoebe? Nah. Joey? Even if you could explain it so he'd understand, he wouldn't care."

"But I should have tried. I hate that it made you feel so bad. Oh, I was so mad at Phoebe!"

"Not nearly as mad as I was at Joey. But then he talked to me and it put things into perspective."

"Really? Joey?"

Chandler put his arm around her and pulled her close, brushing his lips over her hair.

"Yeah. He said that even if you had wanted him, it would have been for like half an hour tops, and that you wanted me for the rest of your life. How lucky I was. And that it would never have worked out with him anyway, not the way it did with us. That we are perfect –"

"Oh my god. That's what he said? Perfect?"

"Yeah, only when I told him that I wanted him to use these exact words for his speech, he started again with all that sharing and receiving crap, so I guess you won't be hearing it from him ever."

"Aw. But still, he said it to you, and it made you change your mind and come back here. For that he can talk about sharing and receiving as much as he wants!"

"Not to forget having and giving …", Chandler smiled wearily. "I guess it's too much to hope for, but maybe he'll have forgotten all that by the time he marries us."

She couldn't resist. "So he is still marrying us? After all that?"

"Of course. Unless you don't want him?"

"Of course I still want him!" She put a hand on the back of his head to draw him down for a kiss. "And Phoebe's still going to be my bridesmaid. Unless you don't want her?"

"Of course I want her. Who else is going to stop us from getting too romantic?"

She laughed softly into their kiss and then moaned when his arms tightened around her and he started to gently push her back on the couch, leaning over her. She slid a hand under his jacket and clenched her fingers into his shirt, cradling him between her arms, against her breasts. When they broke the kiss to come up for air, his eyes had that glazed look that always made her rejoice.

"Mmmh … well, she's not here to stop us now, so –"

"Aw, ummm – mmmh … Oh, I wish we could, but I have to work in – oh god, one hour!" She pushed him away, albeit with real regret. "I'm sorry. But we still have all night!"

Chandler sighed deeply and sat up, releasing her. "You're right. And we need to go down anyway to show them we're okay. Before they tell everybody the wedding's off."

"Oh god! Yes, lets! Only I don't want to tell them all I told you just now." Monica grimaced a little. "It would be too –"

"Embarrassing?"

"Yeah. Or not. It's just so complicated. I really would prefer to keep it between ourselves if you don't mind."

"And let Phoebe keep thinking I was the runner-up? But she'd never believe the truth anyway, so why bother?" He kissed her gently on the cheek. "Some things in life are more important." Then he grinned wryly. "Though I bet you ten dollars she'll say you'd have been better off with Joey."

"I'll pass, but thanks." They'd gotten up from the couch and she put her arms around him. "I really don't care what she thinks, as long as you know she's wrong."

"I do now."

"Then I'm okay." And as she held him to her, nuzzling against his shoulder, she realized that she really was, that somehow after all this time, she felt at peace, with everything put right between them again – even the things she had completely forgotten or hadn't deemed important but that had still been wrong. They were okay again, after mastering another crisis, and that was the most important thing of all. The miracle that had brought them together was still working. After so many small miracles bringing them together and moving them forward time and again, the one giant London miracle was still working for them.

And she vowed right there and then she would do everything to keep making it work.


End file.
